


taught you poetry

by lost_for_me



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Dies (Merlin), Based on a Tumblr Post, I'm not a poet, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Poetry, Sweet, but he does come back, but i hope i make up for it in enthusiasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29426316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_for_me/pseuds/lost_for_me
Summary: The first time, he’d said :hey, come on, that’s enough.That’s enoughwhat?Enough of the bluest skies and stormiest oceans wedding in his eyes? Enough of the crow’s fatality, the raven’s blinding beauty, midnight’s finest silk ropes dancing in his hair? Enough of the freshly fallen snow and languid drops of sunlight in his skin? Enough of the land’s finest honey, the ocean’s smoothest waves, the sky’s whistling winds in his voice? Enough of the gods’ love when they made him, crafted beauty and defined perfection through him?Enough of the flames tickling your heart?Enough?No, never enough. You can't get enough of him.Or: Arthur and Merlin are a couple of saps so I took their lines and made them poetry
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Kudos: 11





	1. and angels dyed their feathers with the dark side of the moon (arthur)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post : https://whatthedruidscallme.tumblr.com/post/636801312085950464  
> After literal ages of reading a lot of (A LOT OF) fanfic here, I decided to post something (I usually only write really short things on tumblr (@lost_for_writing) but I feel like I've read every Merthur fic I could find interesting...so yes, I am at this level of desperation).  
> Any mistakes are my own and thanks for reading!!

### and angels dyed their feathers with the dark side of the moon (arthur)

The first time, he’d said : _**hey, come on, that’s enough.**_

That’s enough _what?_

Enough of the bluest skies and stormiest oceans wedding in his eyes? Enough of the crow’s fatality, the raven’s blinding beauty, midnight’s finest silk ropes dancing in his hair? Enough of the freshly fallen snow and languid drops of sunlight in his skin? Enough of the land’s finest honey, the ocean’s smoothest waves, the sky’s whistling winds in his voice? Enough of the gods’ love when they made him, crafted beauty and defined perfection through him? 

Enough of the flames tickling your heart?

 _Enough?_ No, never enough. You can’t get enough of him.

The second time, you’d said you could take him apart with one blow. He’d replied : _**I could take you apart with less than that.**_

You believed him.

Pegasus could take flight from the high rise of his cheekbones, and angels dyed their feathers with the dark side of the moon to shape his eyelashes. There is life born from his every breath, and death falls with his every tear. The line of his neck disarms your very soul, the ridges of his spine define the edges of your world, the curve of his lips rewrite every rule of your reality.

_You think you could take him apart with one blow, but you know he could take you apart with less._

The hundredth time, he’d said : _**if you weren’t a prince, I’d tell you to mind your own damn business.**_

But you wouldn’t have listened.

You wanted his screaming victories, his throbbing smiles, his stinging happiness. You wanted his laughing defeats, his dancing bruises, his fucking pain. You wanted his dull Autumn mornings and his sleepy midnight rambles. You wanted all of him, and you wished to give him everything he wanted. You would’ve traveled a thousand roads and ran across a million galaxies to be by his side, to make his business your business, and your business his, if he allowed.

_If you weren’t a prince, you’d have told him that you loved him._

One time, he said : _**I’m teaching him some poetry.**_

And he missed the glance you gave him, blessing the chapped bloom of his mouth, the wing of his jaw, and the fraying of the snake-like cloth coiled around his fragile throat, how the flame of the torch teases the glint in his eye, and you said _yes._  
Blindly.

_He’s teaching you poetry, and you miss the glance he gives you._

Before the last time, he tells you : _**I have magic.**_

You tell him to leave you.

He doesn’t, and you can’t tell if it’s salt or salve on the wound of his betrayal. _But it hurts._ It hurts like a thousand cuts to your skin, like poison that is icicles growing in your lungs. It hurts like a pyre blazing black, your blood boiling blue, and your bones melting into the sword that stabs you in the back. It hurts because -  
The countless restless nights, the whispered conversations, the winning smiles and the tender touches were lies, and the one unspoken admission of affection feels more one-sided than ever.

_What do you say to the one man you thought your heart was safe with, after he takes it and locks it away, and doesn’t tell you where he hid it?_

You know, now.

You say : _**Merlin, I’m the King, you can’t tell me what to do.**_

(Though I’d ride over raging oceans if you wanted me to. Though I’d fly, wingless, if you wished it of me. Though I’d learn to live without breathing, if you asked me. Ask, and my life is yours, my kingdoms is yours, _my world is you._ )

_**Whatever happens, I don’t want you to change.** _

(I would rip apart the fabric of the world to spin it into your scarf if it meant that you still smile the happy way you do. I would swallow the oceans whole to stop even one sorrowful tear falling from your eyes. I would challenge the Lord of Time himself, travel into his stomach to turn back time for you, if that would keep you safe from the scum that hurt you.)

_**I want you to always be you.** _

(Be _my Merlin._ I know you can’t be mine, but be _my Merlin._ )

_**I’m sorry about how I treated you.** _

(I’m sorry for the unsaid things. I’m sorry for the things I couldn’t be, the things I ran away from the same way moths flock toward flame - I’d seen myself in those moths, and I knew that I’d burn if I got too close, so I fled. I am not a cowardly man, but the brightest star in the universe _(you, Merlin)_ falling and landing next to me scared me in its profoundness. I shouldn’t have run, I should have burnt. I regret that more than anything.)

You feel his touch on your cheek and thank whatever gods are watching over your pitiful life for the sweet dream. 

The last time, _the last time, **the last time.**_

It’s the last time you’ll get to see him and _you can’t think._ For all he’s taught you poetry, words fail to describe him the way words fail to describe how you feel about him. You try to memorize all of him, but you already have. He is as part of you as your blood is. Or possibly more - after all, your blood has betrayed and is leaving you. He’s done neither.

The last time, you say : _**Just, just hold me.**_

Perhaps that’s truer than any poem.

Hold me _(and let me have this)._  
Hold me _(and let me feel your breath)._  
Hold me _(and let me tell all I meet **“I was his, I am his.”** )_  
Hold me _(and let me be alive in death)._

_What do you say to the man who locked your heart in his heart and kept it safe for you?_

If you’ve no answer, do not fret, for you have centuries.

Tell him then, the poems that you built from his sunlight, the words that you thrust into yourself from his ocean, the way you can’t describe how you feel about him.

Tell him, _**thank you.**_ Tell him, _**I missed you.**_ Tell him, _**I love you, too.**_


	2. he is the final smile of the first peaceful death (merlin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time, he’d said : _**do I know you?**_  
>  And you didn’t even know his name but you almost screamed _yes._  
>  Yes, to the gold that inspired Alchemy’s quest, drew dragons’ unwavering peace, awed leprechauns into building rainbows dripping from his hair. Yes, to Apollo’s worshipping kisses and the the blessing of Artemis’ moonlight on his skin. Yes, to the endless bright warmth of summer skies and the blinding ice of the deepest winter oceans tumbling in his eyes. Yes, to the burning courage and fluttering regality in his voice. Yes, to the gods’ swan song, the culmination of their affection and dedication, the first and last true king.  
> Yes, to something more than destiny.  
>  _So he doesn’t know you, but his name is Arthur._  
>  Or: Arthur and Merlin are a couple of saps so I took their lines and made them poetry  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post : https://whatthedruidscallme.tumblr.com/post/636801312085950464  
> After literal ages of reading a lot of (A LOT OF) fanfic here, I decided to post something (I usually only write really short things on tumblr (@lost_for_writing) but I feel like I've read every Merthur fic I could find interesting...so yes, I am at this level of desperation).  
> Any mistakes are my own and thanks for reading!!

### he is the final smile of the first peaceful death (merlin)

The first time, he’d said : **_do I know you?_**

And you didn’t even know his name but you almost screamed _yes._

Yes, to the gold that inspired Alchemy’s quest, drew dragons’ unwavering peace, awed leprechauns into building rainbows dripping from his hair. Yes, to Apollo’s worshipping kisses and the the blessing of Artemis’ moonlight on his skin. Yes, to the endless bright warmth of summer skies and the blinding ice of the deepest winter oceans tumbling in his eyes. Yes, to the burning courage and fluttering regality in his voice. Yes, to the gods’ swan song, the culmination of their affection and dedication, the first and last true king.

Yes, to something more than destiny.

_So he doesn’t know you, but his name is Arthur._

The second time, he’d said : _**aw, don’t run away**_

As if anyone even could.

The fallen morning star would crawl out of the depths of the underworld and repent before him, angels would fight their way out of heaven for a dying glimpse of him. Lightning falls to see the man who outshines it, and thunder begs to hear his whisper. Death wanders from its post to trail obediently behind him, and Life swings after him, trembling in every corner of his love. His smallest smile is air when you are suffocating in everything, the tip of his tongue is water after a millennia of draught, his touch is like a lover’s kiss after a lifetime of war.

_He could order you to run away, but you would find your way back even in death._

The hundredth time he’d said : _**one thing I tell all my young knights is that no man is worth your tears.**_

You are not a knight, and you disagreed.

His heart was worth changing the Earth’s orbit, dousing the Sun’s flames, stopping time itself. His mind was worth upturning gravity, flying underwater, drowning in the skies. His strength was worth burning frozen, imploding outwards, flying collapsing. His compassion was worth screaming yourself mute, walking without any unbroken bones. He was worth killing for, worth dying for, worth living for. He was worth your bloody tears.

_You had to remind yourself to laugh it off, and say that he’s certainly not._

One time, you’d said that _**you were teaching him poetry**_ and he’d said _**yes.**_

You missed him blessing the chapped bloom of your mouth, because you were glancing at the bitten pomegranate of his lips. You missed him cherishing the wing of your jaw, because you were admiring the eagles of his shoulders. You missed him caressing the fraying of the snake-like cloth coiled around your throat, because you were mesmerized by the burning blue stars of his eyes absorbing the torch’s fire. You lied, because you’re not the teacher. He is.

_He’s teaching you poetry, and he misses the glance you give him._

Before the last time, he orders : _**leave me**_

You know he knows you won’t.

But this is the first time he’s meant it when he said _leave me_ and it carves out your insides. You would prefer to have lost your eyes and ears so that you never would have known what he had meant. You would prefer to burn, boiling blood scalding your still-beating heart, skin peeling into ashes, bones melting into tears. You would prefer to be a lone snowflake falling in summer, unseen and unnoticed, something nonexistent. You would do it all if it meant that those conversations and smiles, that laughter and attention, his touches and your unspoken admission of affection meant anything at all.

_What do you say to the man whose heart you locked inside you own to protect, when he demands it back?_

You know, now.

You say : _**I’m still the same person.**_

(I’m still the same person who would thread lightning, swallow earthquakes, stab time for you. I’m still the same person who would fight a thousand warriors, and die a million times over for you. I’m still the same person who would wake you in the mornings and bid you sweet dreams at night. I’m still the same person who you would call _idiot_ when you actually meant _friend._ )

_**I do this because of who you are.** _

(You are the cloth the threads of the universe fit together to form. You are where oceans are born, where the moon hides her blush from the sea, where the snowflakes first learn to dance. You are the first breath the primordial gods took, the gentle hand that first discovered love, the final smile of the first peaceful death. Your name is what I hope my last words are, your face the last thing I see, your touch the one that dulls the pain of Death’s pull. )

_**There will never be another like you, Arthur.** _

(I love you.)

_**I also do this, because you are my friend and I don’t want to lose you.** _

(I once heard a story of a woman who loved her wife so much that she found the cure for her illness. I wondered, then, about the fear of losing half your soul. I wondered, then, about love to the point of invention. I wonder no longer. I know I would invent life for you. I know the fear of losing you is the reason I couldn’t breathe when I was born, the reason the first sound I made was a cry.)

_You hold up a spoon where the tears of the gods pooled to his mouth and wish it held a drop of life instead._

The last time, _the last time, **the last time.**_

You’ve seen countless deaths but it feels like that time when you were 6 and didn’t know how to deal with what had happened when your mother pulled you and Will close and said _We will be your family, Will_ in front of two dark slabs of stone. You’ve grown, but you don’t know what to do. You’ve learnt poetry but grief has scared away all your words. You can lose them, but you cannot lose memories of him. You let grief stab you to protect them. If you can remember him, you will never die.

The last time, you say : _**stay with me**_

Perhaps that’s truer than any poem.

Stay with me ( _for you are the reason I could keep breathing_ ).  
Stay with me ( _for you are all that I know is true_ ).  
Stay with me ( _for a world without you is not one worth living_ ).  
Stay with me ( _ **or let me go with you**_ ).

_What do you say to the man who found the pieces of the puzzle your heart, and tore his own to fit in place of the stolen ones?_

If you’ve no answer, do not worry, for you will have the wisdom of 20 lifetimes.

Show him the way his warmth is spun into the scarves that you gift, the way his smile is echoed in every movement of your lips, the way he is melted in every act of love.

Show him **something about yourself, something you’ve had no one to show to for fifteen thousand years. _Show him your love._**


End file.
